


you knock me out, i fall apart (and i thought i was so smart)

by surabayuh



Series: legacy (a garden you never get to see) [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, Parent Peter Parker, Pregnancy, and his surroundings doesn't really help calming himself down, and it's like, anyway stan iron family for clear skin, but then again i'm biased, dare i say he's better than cap, honestly i wrote this in one sitting, in which peter is really anxious to be a dad, lizard dude, really angsty, there's also a brief mention of curtis connor, tony is really good at pep-talk tho, y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 19:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19856755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surabayuh/pseuds/surabayuh
Summary: “Wh-What?” Peter spluttered.MJ took a deep breath, shakily. “Pregnant.” She said, vaguely gesturing to her upper body. “y’know. Bun in the oven. Baby on board. All the euphemisms.”If he focused hard enough, he could hear the baby's heartbeat, going a fast thump-a-thump-a-thump that was perhaps twice his own.“We’re—” Peter choked, emotions clogging his throat. “we’re going to have a baby.” He said, shakily.And then they were hugging, and MJ laughed—a wet, teary laugh, but a laugh nonetheless—as he whispered sweet nothings to her ear.He didn’t tell her about the inescapable fear that interlaced with his joy.That was his first mistake.





	you knock me out, i fall apart (and i thought i was so smart)

In hindsight, perhaps Peter should have used the front door. It was, after all, his _own_ residence's fire escape window he was about to sneak in. But in between _old_ _habits die hard_ and _trying to emulate romance_ _,_ his Spidey sense—not common sense, mind you—directed him there. 

Which was exactly why when he slid the window open, he got a perfectly aimed hairbrush thrown at his face, and a woman, shrieking in panic. 

“Ow! MJ, what the _hell?”_ Peter backed out in surprise, his butt falling back to the fire escape. 

He heard a strangled yelp and a muffled “ _I’m sorry!”_ before a MJ popped her head and extended her hand from the window, offering help. 

“thanks,” Peter said, taking her hand. MJ pulled him up and he leaped and suddenly they were face-to-face, really close to each other. MJ yelped by the change of distance and stumbled back, dragging both of them to the bed unceremoniously. 

“Ouch,” Peter grunted, because he thought he hit a wound on their fall. “You're being really uncharacteristically jittery today.” He said, gingerly rubbing his right ribs. 

MJ looked like she wanted to reply with something, but halted her speech off the last second. Instead, she huffed a hair strand out of her face, her panic starting to be replaced by annoyance. “You’re entering _your_ _own_ property through the fire escape, Loser.” She said, turning her head at him. “You know who enter houses through fire escapes? Thieves. And serial killers. Definitely not the owner of the said house, Bug Boy.” 

Peter snorted at MJ's dry words. “I was trying to do something romantic, y'know,” he waved a hand, “reminiscing the old ways we used to meet up.” 

“You’re impossible, Parker.” 

“You love me for it.” 

MJ's faux annoyance faltered and she gave him a faint smile, uncovered only by the sliver of moonlight entering their room. She snuggled to him, accidentally hitting the presumably fractured bone on his chest. 

She pulled back at his wince. “You’re wounded.” She said; a statement, not a question. Peter sheepishly nodded and MJ sighed, heavier than usual, and dragged them both to sit down. 

Only then did Peter actually _see_ MJ, in all of her glory; Her hair was wet and unruly and her face was mostly clouded with worry—heavier than usual, somewhat. “Hey, it's—I’m okay.” Peter immediately responded, trying to soothe her. “Just a fractured bone. It'll heal in no time.” 

MJ's frown clearly indicated her disapproval, and her mouth kept on opening and closing, as if indecisive on what to say, before finally pressing her lips shut. Instead, she pulled up the first aid kit from the tabletop next to their bed and began unpacking. “Tell me where it hurts.” She said, softly, as she unwrapped the Spidey Spandex. “ _Jesus,_ Peter.” 

Peter grimaced, knowing fully well that MJ was looking at the assortments of already healing bullet grazes and cuts and bruises on his backside. “It looks worse than it feels, I swear,” he lied. 

“Who did you _fight_ _?”_

Her fingers delicately brushed his backside, softly rubbing alcohol to clean his wounds and patch them up with clean bandages. He sighed, closing his eyes. “I love you,” Peter blurted out instead as an answer. 

“I love you too.” MJ automatically replied, and Peter felt a little flutter in his chest. “but your declaration isn't going to exempt you from telling me about your latest opponent.” 

“Always with the big words,” Peter muttered softly, leaning to her touch. 

“Stop deflecting, Parker, start storytelling.” 

“Okay, okay, it was a lizard mutant.” Said Peter, “weird crawly limbs and green scaly skin—like a really twisted Komodo dragon. I beat him off, I swear—ow!” He couldn’t help but to yelp when MJ accidentally jabbed a sore spot. 

“Sorry! Sorry,” MJ exclaimed in a hushed tone, gingerly touching the bruise. 

“It’s alright, Em.” 

Silence transpired between them; Peter clenching his fist to prevent him from making any sudden movements as MJ stitched the open wounds. “So the lizard dude,” she opened the conversation again, after a while “is he dead?” 

Peter shrugged. “as good as.” 

“Okay.” MJ exhaled, and Peter could feel some tension leave her body. More silence, before she finally declared, “I’m done.” 

Peter could feel to soft bandages and the careful stitches, and he turned to smile at her. “that wasn't so bad, now was it?” he said, wryly. 

MJ chuckles, voice thick and throaty. “That’s supposed to be my line, Doofus.” She mumbled, pulling her sleeves to wipe the dried blood off his nose. 

Peter narrowed his eyes upon looking at her; her eyes were shimmery and red-rimmed, and she was clearly holding back tears from falling. “Hey, MJ,” He said, scooting over so they were impossibly closer. “What’s wrong?” He caressed her cheek affectionately, trying to convey his worry and confusion. 

“S'nothing.” MJ sniffled, immediately wiping her eyes off. 

“Clearly not nothing when you're crying.” Peter countered, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I'm just—” MJ opened her mouth, closed it again; opened, then close. It had been a growing habit through the night, MJ losing her might to speak. And MJ _never_ had difficulty with delivering her words. 

Needless to say, Peter was growing increasingly worried. “MJ,” He said, trying to coax her to tell. 

Silence transpired between them once more, with Peter expecting an answer and MJ trying to give him one. 

“Do you think I look fat?” 

Peter blinked—once, twice, completely thrown off his rhythm. “um, no?” he said, taken aback. “you’re beautiful…?” he added, confusion still addling with his brain. 

MJ looked down, fiddling with the Hem of her shirt. She bit her lip, hesitating, which made Peter even more confused; She'd been upset because she thought she looked _fat?_

“A specific body size isn't a staple for female beauty, Parker,” she replied almost automatically, looking at him with sharp but clouded eyes, and Peter's Spidey senses were tingling; she'd never had such snide when delivering matter-of-fact statements. She seemed to realize it, too, because then she looked down on her lap, mumbling. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, it's okay.” Said Peter, soothingly. “is that what makes you upset? Societal standard on policing body imagery?” he asked, trying to understand. 

“Big words, Parker,” MJ tried to joke, weakly. “Not bad.” 

“Stop deflecting, Jones, and start storytelling.” 

MJ snorted when her words were returned to her, but she then looked down, playing with her fingers. “It’s complicated.” 

“Okay, MJ, will you just tell me then? Because I promise you that I wouldn't be mad. If it's about me looking like shit after being battered by a mutant, then I’m sorry, Em, but you _know_ this isn’t the norm, and—” 

“ _Peterimpregnant_.” 

MJ's words were rushed and stacked together rather carelessly, Peter almost didn't catch what she'd said. 

_Almost._

“wh-What?” Peter spluttered. 

MJ took a deep breath, shakily. “Pregnant.” She said, vaguely gesturing to her upper body. “y’know. Bun in the oven. Baby on board. All the euphemisms.” 

And Peter _knew,_ logically, what she'd said. But his brain was jammed, his entire mouth a useless ornament that could only gape like a koi fish out of water at the moment. His Spidey senses is askew. 

_Pregnant._

_His fiancée is pregnant._

“Peter say something.” MJ urged him, her tone downright begging with all the anxiety laced onto it. 

_Pregnant._

“Do you—” he gulped, trying to soothe his suddenly dry, “Do you want it?” 

MJ wet her lips, “I think—yes.” She said, slowly, quietly. “Do you?” 

And Peter's insides were screaming, a myriad of emotions clashing together in madness as he struggled to categorize his feelings. But then he saw MJ, looking at him in part-expectant, part-fear, and then he thought the word _baby_ and despite everything, his chest was filled with warmth and so much unbridled _g_ _lee._

_Pregnant._

_His fiancée was pregnant._

“We’re—” Peter choked, emotions clogging his throat. “we’re going to have a _baby.”_ He said, shakily. 

And then they were hugging, and MJ laughed—a wet, teary laugh, but a laugh nonetheless—as he whispered sweet nothings to her ear. 

He didn’t tell her about the creeping dread crawling back to his system. Didn't tell her about _later;_ when she was asleep in his embrace and his hand flexed around her abdomen, unable to find slumber. 

If he focused hard enough, he could _hear_ the baby's heartbeat, going a fast _thump-a-thump-a-thump_ that was perhaps twice his own. 

He didn’t tell her about the inescapable _fear_ that interlaced with his _joy._

* * *

The next time the Iron Family brunch happened, they told them. A surge of _congratulations!_ Came, with Harley somehow finding confetti and throwing it carelessly. Thankfully, the restaurant was booked for their occasion, lest to not make any unwanted mess. 

“Can’t believe you managed to keep it this long,” Peter teased aunt May, who was grinning grinning eye to eye. 

“Two weeks, Peter! That's how long you've forced me to keep my mouth shut from Happy.” 

“Wait, you know _two weeks ago_ and you didn’t even tell _me?”_

“We were waiting for the 12th week mark, Happy! Come on, don't be salty…” 

Nebula, meanwhile, was giving MJ a relieved look. “I’ve been hearing double heartbeats from you since I came, I thought you had a ticking time bomb or something.” 

MJ laughed, nervously. “yeah, well, in a way, I kinda do.” 

Morgan approached Peter with a serious expression, pointing him with a sharp look. “I might be your sister,” she said, matter-of-factly, “but your kids are _not_ going to call me _aunt._ ” 

Peter spluttered his drink and snorted. 

“Pete, do you _copy?”_

For a twelve-year-old, she was pretty intimidating. 

He tried to hold back his laughter as he nodded at her. “Copy that, Punk. No auntie Morgo.” 

Morgan seemed to be satisfied by this, and then hopped on to his lap to give him a hug, before running to Harley's sister Hannah and started talking about this new comic she was reading on—something about a retconned Wonder Woman. 

The older bunch—May, Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, Carol and Monica—surrounded MJ and Peter with all the advices they could muster (most of it came out from Pepper and May, who'd been pregnant and was a midwife, respectively.) Peter typed in his note app everything they told him, so fast and forceful his screen protector cracked at some point. 

With each tips, he became increasingly anxious, growing to realize that he had _no idea_ what he was diving himself into. 

Harley was a godsend when he snuck himself in-between Monica and Rhodey, giving them a squeeze. “I think the happy couple have had enough parental guidance to last them a lifetime,” he winked at the elderlies. “How 'bout we make a toast instead?” and before anyone could dispute him, Harley raised his glass; 

“To Peter and MJ!” He yelled, “The first to repopulate the Starklings after quite a long hiatus, and gave me the weird uncle rights!” 

MJ leaned to Peter, seemingly much more relaxed at the turn of the tides. “You Stark bunch is so obnoxious.” She noted, snuggling into him. 

“Yeah, well, you're marrying into this obnoxious family, which makes you, too, obnoxious by extension.” 

“Fair.” 

The party slowly dispersed, people forming smaller groups and chatting. MJ found herself enamored with Monica's experience as war-veteran-turned civil rights attorney, while Pepper, Carol and May exchanged stories of the sexist pigs they encountered in their respective board rooms. Happy, Hannah and Rhodey, on the other hand, were trying to convince Morgan that _So Yummy!_ was not a reliable source for learning how to cook. 

Which left Peter surrounded by Harley, his boyfriend Zaheer, and Nebula. 

“To be completely honest, I thought we were going to be the first ones to expand the Iron Wings.” Joked Zaheer as he gulped his mocktail, his hands gesturing between himself and Harley. 

“To be completely honest, me too.” Peter chuckled, nervously. “How’s the adoption process going with Shihab?” 

“Ugh, hell,” groaned Harley into her drink. “But things are looking up because of, y'know, my track record with Hannah.” He waved a hand to his sister, who was neck-deep at the debate of how _frosting aren’t supposed to be made from melted ice cream,_ _Morgo_ _, that shit is a scam,_ “She's, uh, spirited. But her existence helped a lot in the pleading—made herself a living proof of how competent we are as her guardian, and by extension, Shihab's.” He smiled, wistfully. “the agency said it's two months, tops, then we'll legally have him.” 

Peter pictured Harley and Zaheer's little boy, all toothless smile and laughter. “It’ll be great, Harley.” Said Peter, kindly, giving his brother a pat on the shoulder. 

Zaheer gave him a grateful smile, before turning to Nebula. “what about you, blue meanie?” he said, teasing at her. “no blue Starklings from you anytime soon?” 

Nebula gave him an odd look. “I don’t have a partner.” She said, bluntly, pointing the obvious. 

Harley shrugged. “Don’t gotta have a partner to have a baby nowadays, don’t we?” 

The Android alien smiled wistfully. “I can't.” she said, “Thanos replaced 80% of my flesh with mechanical parts, including the life incubating system.” She said, drinking her vodka straight. 

Harley's smile faltered, as Peter's eyes grew sympathetic. “oh, we—” Zaheer said, softly, “We didn’t know.” 

But Nebula seemed unbothered by it, grabbing the vodka bottle to pour herself a new shot. With her mechanical digestive system, day drinking was easy for her; no blackouts, no hangovers, just enough highs to let the stress flow away. “But even if I can do it,” she said, tapping her glass. “I don’t think that I _want_ to.” 

Now her eyes grew somber, and her expression darkened. “Oh,” said Peter, slowly, his tone unsure. 

Nebula stirred her drink, absent-mindedly. “It’s just,” she said, softly, “living with an abusive, genocidal, megalomaniac Titan kind of put you into perspective on things.” She spoke, dryly. “The man I called my parent threw my sister off of a cliff for his ambitions, and sent me to countless suicide mission only to torture me when I survived.” She shook her head. “I don't—I'm afraid of making the same mistakes that he did.” She gave them a wry smile. “And between the stunted emotional growth, the continuous nightmares, the inability to provide prolonged comfort, and the occupational hazard, I don’t think that I'm qualified to be a parent, anyway.” 

Peter sucked a deep breath at that. 

He remembered Mr. Stark, telling him late at night about the abuses his father forced him to endure. About how Howard Stark would whip him with a rattan cane, or would stuff him into closets for not listening to him. He thought about Harley's father, who said lies for a goodbye and who neglected his children with ease. He thought of Thanos, of how he destroyed his daughter's lives for his mad ambitions, he thought of— 

“Hey, Peter,” Nebula's soft, tech-tinted voice shook him out of his reverie. “did I upset you?” she asked him, concerned. 

Peter shook his head, fervently. He blinked, giving her a smile. “No, it's nothing.” He said, trying to brush off his growing panic. “just spacing out, that's all.” 

But throughout the later part of the conversation, Peter kept thinking back to his dad, blurry but filled with _warmth_ _;_ to Uncle Ben; with his late-night jokes and incomparable _wisdom;_ to Tony, who gave him so much dad jokes, high-tech protocols, and above all _affection_. 

He thought of himself; of the nightmares that he endured, of the nights he woke up nearly crushing MJ's hand thinking that it was an enemy's. He thought of how sometimes he couldn't control his stress and lashed out on aunt May and Happy and even Morgan, once, only to regret it immensely when the damage was done. He thought of his _job_ , of his _identity,_ that could possibly put a bullet on his head and left his child fatherless. 

( _Like dad left him. Like Uncle Ben left him. Like Mr. Stark left him.)_

_between the stunted emotional growth, the continuous nightmares, the inability to provide prolonged comfort, and the occupational hazard, I don’t think that I'm qualified to be a parent, anyway._

And just like that, the dread came back twice as big, twice as menacing.

* * *

“ _...if you just listen to me!”_

Peter had to take a step back upon entering Pepper's office. The Stark Matriarch was seemingly unaware of his arrival, focusing all of energy to his tiny, red-faced daughter instead. 

“Yes, Morgan, I did listen to you and you were _wrong_ .” Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. “You should _never_ have resorted to violence to solve your problems—” 

“That’s not fair, _dad_ did it, _uncle_ _Rhodey_ did it, Fuck, Peter and Harley do it on a daily basis—” 

“First of all, bad word, a dollar to the swear jar; and second, it’s Pete and Harl’s job to get into fights, and last time I checked, it's not yours, so you’re definitely _grounded_ — _”_

“they were _insulting_ Dad!” 

“no TV for a week, no video games, no playing after school—” 

“But mom _—”_

“Nuh-uh, young lady, and no smartphones. We have a StarkPad at home and FRIDAY can help you search things up online— _”_

“What the he—” 

“Don’t continue if you don’t want another dollar gone, young lady.” Pepper reminded her, voice stern and firm, “you _broke_ that boy's nose. Absolutely wrecked it. He was a jerk, yes, but if you beat him up just for _your_ satisfaction then so are _you.”_

Morgan's face was impossibly red, her frown deepening. When she spoke, it was with such conviction that Peter's breath hitched. “I _hate_ you.” 

Peter walked in to petty fights between Pepper and Morgan before, but somehow, this fight ticked him more. Perhaps because he never really saw Morgan saying things like that in person before—only in exasperated stories Pepper relied on him. Perhaps because he could see what the words had on Pepper; her lines deepening, her eyes dimmed. 

Perhaps because he was suddenly transported to their place in which _he_ was Pepper and Morgan was _his_ unborn child. And despite all the effort to provide the best parenting he could get, there was always some way that he would be flawed, a crack that even the great Pepper Potts couldn’t cap. 

A crack that could possibly made his child _hate_ him. 

Morgan stormed out, heated and almost crashing on him at her way to go. That was when Pepper saw him, surprised and somewhat ashamed. “I’m gonna go to Uncle Happy's office.” Morgan declared, glaring at her mother before stomping off. 

“Morgan—” 

“Don’t,” Pepper said, making Peter pause. They watched as the young Stark bolted her way into her Uncle's office downstairs. 

When Morgan had finally disappeared to the elevator, Pepper let out a sigh. “Were you here the whole time?” she asked, gingerly taking a seat at her desk. 

“yeah,” Peter nodded, approaching her slowly. 

Pepper let out a dry laugh. “I’m sorry you had to see that, then,” she said, softly, somberly. “It’s just—sometimes being a parent is making tough decisions, including putting your kids into situations that they do not like.” 

She sounded so tired and spent, and Peter wanted to comfort her, to _do something_ , but he was stuck in perpetual silence as Pepper made space for the documents that he was putting on to the table. “She really punched a guy’s nose?” asked Peter, feigning nonchalance. 

Pepper chuckled, shaking her head. “ _several_ times. Until her knuckles we’re bruised. The teachers had to restrain her.” She said, picking a document and evaluating it absent-mindedly. “I’m guessing it’s a really bad insult for her to get so riled up.” 

Peter looked at the door where Morgan exited, his face scrunched. “she said she hates you.” He said, his last word upturned into a hesitant question. “is that… not alarming?” 

Pepper looked up to him and gave him a small smile. “oh, it is,” Pepper said, “and it'll definitely be the topic of our conversation once we got back home, but it'll pass.” She put her head on her palm, her expression turned pensive. “Though sometimes…” she trailed off, “sometimes I think that Tony would have handled her better.” 

And there it was, the parental doubt; the small voice in Peter's head that told him _what if you suck? What if your kids only likes MJ? What if you_ ** _can’t_** _do this?_

“Anyway, you came here for something,” Pepper immediately reverted back to her professional mode, “is it the R&D department's budget shortage? Because Harley mentioned it to me yesterday.” 

“yeah,” Peter cleared his throat, trying to put his head back in the conversation. “yeah, it is…” 

But Pepper's words were mere brushes to his head, a technical knowledge he gathered as he occasionally glanced at the door, as if expecting Morgan to return. 

The dread grew, gleeful and vicious, threatening to devour the joy that was lodged in his chest. 

* * *

A random Tuesday found Peter coming home for lunch mostly tired, which was the norm at the Parker-Jones household. He stumbled on to the living room to find MJ falling asleep onto the couch, dozing off softly with a hand over her tummy while the TV was on. 

They could see the bump, prominent under the shirt. The doctor said that it was the size of an onion, now. MJ had already declared all her jeans as unfit, rather begrudgingly as she did so. She loved her jeans. 

The doctor also said that their baby was going to be a girl. 

A _girl._

MJ only moaned when Peter shook her softly, not even budging to open her eyes. The pregnancy had been horrible to her health, up to the point where she had to take a temporary break at her work. So Peter softly lifted her to his arms and kissed her forehead instead, planning to carry her to their bedroom. 

“... _and breaking news from Minnesota,_ _St. Paul's_ _M_ _iddle School_ _mass shooter_ _had been convicted with 2_ _nd_ _degree murder and manslaughter_ _. The latest report confirmed 12 victims with 6 of them_ _dead_ _due to his actions_ _…”_

A knot tightened itself into his stomach as Peter gulped, halting his movement to search for the remote and change the channel into something, _anything_ _but_ — 

“ _The kidnapping rates_ _of African-American descent children_ _have steadily grown over the years, with_ _infants and toddlers being most of the victims—”_

No— 

_“A Jacksonville_ _teen_ _who had_ _been found dead at the_ _Black Creek_ _last week has now been identified as_ _Marge_ _Campbell, freshman at_ _Harriet Tubman High school. Police autopsy declared that she was raped prior to her death—”_

“Peter?” 

Peter abruptly turned to MJ, who'd opened her eyes and was looking at him with worry. There were droplets of water on her cheeks, and it took Peter quite a while to realize that it was his own tears. 

“You're crying.” MJ pushed herself up so they were eye to eye. Peter gulped, trying to calm himself. “Hey, Pete, what's wrong?” she asked, softly. 

_“...we're now here with Paul Davis, talking about the_ _impact on climate change for future generations. Now Paul, thank you for being here. The Science Report, which he co-authors, have mentioned that we only have about 6 years left until the damages on Earth became irreversible—”_

Peter shook his head, words disappearing on him as his throat closed up in anxiety. MJ seemed to catch onto the news, and immediately scrambled to take the remote from Peter's hand and turn off the TV. 

“Hey,” MJ's voice seemed so far away, but there was an insistent tug on Peter's cheeks, gently forcing him to turn. “Hey, Bug Boy, look at me.” 

Peter turned, eyes glossy and red-rimmed and _afraid._ “Peter, you’re breathing's way too fast,” Said MJ, worriedly as she looked at Peter. “Come on, now, breathe with me—” 

But Peter _couldn't;_ his mind whirring back to the news anchor and the statistics and the _facts_ of children _endangered and murdered and_ _sent to live in a ticking_ _time-bomb_ — 

“Five things you can see,” MJ's voice was distant and blurry, “please, Peter, five things you can see?” 

Peter gulped, trying his best to focus. “y-you,” he stammered. “the-the TV. That hideous vase from your mom. The clock. The—” he forced himself to continue, despite his labored breaths. “the baby bump.” 

“Good,” MJ Praised him. “Four things you can feel?” 

“Y-our hand.” Peter's voice cracked, but it was steadier. “The couch. The-the carpet.” He extended his foot to the floor. “the tiles.” 

“Alright, Three things you can hear.” 

“Your voice.” Peter told her, firmer this time but still dry and throaty. “the traffic. And—and the baby's heartbeat.” He said, softly, focusing to the _thump-a-thump-a-thump_ noise that seemed to ground him. 

“Two things you can smell.” 

“Your perfume.” Peter immediately responded. “and the lasagna I bought you.” 

MJ gave him a gentle smile, “one thing you can taste.” 

“Coffee.” Peter said, “way too much coffee.” He sounded better now, more grounded, less winded and stressed. 

But tears were still rolling down his cheeks. 

“Hey.” MJ said softly, pecking his lips with hers. “Wanna talk about it?” 

Peter wanted to, by _God,_ he did. He wanted to ask her on _how_ were they going to do _this;_ to bring a child to this _horrible, dangerous_ world; to raise them in such a hateful and hostile society. But his words were tangled and jumbled, a mishmash of pent-up worry and stress that he could merely let his tears fall and his body shake, the questions lost at the tip of his tongue. 

MJ merely snuggled closer at him, chanting “ _it’s okay, it's_ _gonna_ _be okay,”_ like a mantra. Peter closed his eyes and leaned to her touch, chin to the crown of her head, and tried to fight off the dread trying to overpower his entire existence. 

* * *

As it turned out, the lizard man wasn't dead. He also had a name, and was even someone Peter had known; 

Dr. Curtis Connor, His Father's ex scientific partner—emphasis on _ex._

And he—he had MJ. 

“ _Come out, come out, Peter Parker._ ” Said his broadcast at the time square, taunting and haunting him. “ _come and find me and your pretty lady. And oh—”_ He grinned, menacingly, “ _your baby as well.”_

The screen was cut to black, but not before it broadcasted a shriek—pained and fearful and _gut-wrenching_ , the type of shriek Peter had _never_ wanted to hear. 

Peter clenched his fist so tight it tore crescent wounds on his palms. 

“Alright,” Harley took over, loudly. “We need to have a _plan._ This man's using the entire city's drainage system, and it is _complicated,_ not to mention _dangerous.”_ He clapped twice, and EDITH pulled up the model of the sewer pathways. “he’d been known to put deadly bugs at random, and most of them dealt with either bio-toxins that can fuck up your bodily system, extreme hallucinogens, or straight up bombs. Now we need to approach this with caution—” 

“We approach _now.”_ Peter said, his entire body shaking with unbridled rage and—anxiety? 

Harley pressed his lips, seemingly sympathetic yet annoyed at the same time. “Peter, it's lethal to go there without plans, or antidotes, or any sort of precautions—” Cassie began, approaching him carefully. 

“ _Fine!”_ Peter bellowed, loudly, his voice echoing throughout the room. “If you’re too much of a _fucking_ coward, then _I'll_ go. _Alone._ _”_

“Parker, that's even _more_ stupid.” Said RiRi, as she glared at him. “You _need back-up._ We're talking about a deranged lizard man who had access to like, tons of various bio-toxins—” 

“Which is exactly why I have to go _now!”_ Peter yelled, his eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. “Every ticking second is another second lost to him probably using his shit to—to—" he stuttered, his heart faltering. 

Images of MJ screaming as Connor injected her some random drugs, just to see how it affected her, rushed to his mind without warning. 

“Pete, you're bleeding.” Said Kamala, moving forward and holding Peter's hand before he could dodge. The wounds on his hand were fresh and moon-shaped. 

“I’m _fine.”_ Peter snatched his hand away, letting the open wound sting as it hit air. It was the _least_ amount of pain that he _deserved_ _,_ for leaving MJ alone—for putting her in the situation of life and death. 

( _His dad would have known on what to do. Uncle Ben would have known on what to do. Mr. Stark would have known on what to do—)_

“Hey,” Peter looked up and he saw Harley, peering down on him with a pained look. “you're spiraling, Peter.” He told him, point blank and blunt. “You have to control it.” 

“I’m trying—” 

“I think you should be benched,” said America, standing from her seat, earning a sharp turn from Peter. “Keener, he's shaking like a leaf. He'll be way too distracted for the mission—” 

“ _That man has my fucking_ _family!”_ Peter's voice was loud, and hoarse, and raw and pained and every single negative expression mixed to one. “He—he had my wi—fiancée and my _child_ and you're telling me to get myself _benched?!”_

“Peter,” there were two sets of hands holding him back, and he realized that it was Harley's and Richard's. “Peter, breathe,” said Harley, soft yet stern. “Any more stress and your body could explode.” 

Peter wanted to smack him, wanted to throttle everyone that was holding him back, but he knew that the anger was misplaced. The Avengers were just _trying_ to optimize the rescue mission. Peter, objectively, knew that his one-man-show was reckless at best, deadly at worst. 

But he didn’t care. 

That man had his _family._

_Peter had endangered his family._

_(_ _Mr.Starkwouldhaveknownwhattodo_ _Mr.Stark_ _wouldhaveknownwhattodo_ _Mr.Stark_ _—)_

“Uh, guys?” Ned yelled from the surveillance desk. “I found a suspicious frequency in these concentrated perimeter. Should I—” 

“Pull it up.” Said Peter, without thinking. 

“Peter, it's—” 

“Pull it _up,_ Ned!” 

What greeted him was MJ's cries and pleas, amplified to echo the room and twisted a knife straight into Peter’s chest. 

“ _Please, please I’d do anything, please don't hurt my baby, please!”_

Peter stumbled, his knees buckling. He panted, bloodied hand on his chest as he winced. He felt his breathing laboring and his fingers trembling even more. 

“Leeds, shut them down—” he could hear Kate yelling, and he could feel all eyes on him. 

“No, _don’t,”_ Peter croaked, his voice cracking. He was clenching and unclenching his fist, trying his best to get over his bearings. “Ned, please configure the _exact_ coordinates.” 

Ned gulped, nodding. “Putting EDITH onto work…” 

“ _No, no, no!”_

“ **Peter’s heartbeat is dangerously high. Possible diagnose: Panic Attack.”** Said KAREN, loudly. 

“Please shut up, KAREN.” 

“ **you’re welcome, Peter.”**

“Uh, guys?” Ned piped up again, and at the same time, their comms had a unanimous notification. “I found the coordinates, but—” Ned sighed, shakily. “it’s—EDITH picked an increasingly large electromagnetic energy around the city, and I think—I think it's a bomb.” He paused, “an assortment of bombs, actually.” 

Peter wanted to throw up. 

“How many more hours until the bombs explode, Ned?” asked Peter, hissing through his teeth. 

MJ was screaming again, and a whimper escaped from Peter's mouth. 

“According to the average growth of the field…” Ned trailed off. “50 minutes.” 

Harley gulped, and Peter could feel the tension growing. “And how big is the scale of the bombs, Ned?” asked Harley, deceptively collected. 

“…half of New York.” 

( _Tony help me._

_God help me, Tony—_

_What should I do?)_

“You guys go—spread up—disable the bomb.” Said Peter, his voice void of any emotions. “I-I’m gonna go find—find MJ.” 

“But Peter—” Protested Cassie. 

“You _heard_ him,” Peter turned, sharply. “He wants me and me _alone._ He's gotta be waiting at that coordinate with—with—” 

_With the family that I endangered._

“…bring Cassie.” Said Harley, after a split second that felt like eons. “She can shrink herself and MJ to escape while you fight the bad guy.” 

Peter let out a shaky sigh, a sign of hope after some really tense time. “okay.” He tapped his chest, once, twice and the Spidey suit re-stitched itself, nanoparticles gluing themselves to one another seamlessly. 

Cassie threw him a worried look, but tapped her own suit anyway, and off they went before anyone could say otherwise. 

The entire trip was rigid and quiet, as Peter swung violently across the city, following Ned's coordinates blindly he nearly hit several trees and one concrete building. 

“ _Peter, be careful!”_ yelled Cassie through the comms, which Peter thoroughly ignored. 

Peter wanted to say _fuck being careful_ , he was so close to being homicidal at this point. His moral compass had been steadily eroding in each and every scream MJ emitted through the audio Ned had pulled up. He could feel his palms stinging with nail-shaped-wounds and he could barely give a damn. 

Every cell in his body could be in pain and he wouldn't bat an eye. 

Because MJ was _there_ , their _baby_ was _there,_ because of him. 

“Here.” Said Cassie, motioning Peter to land to a quiet road. Peter opened the sealing disk and discarded it carelessly, letting it his and wreck a nearby wall. “CN West Chemical factory. The sewer right below this building where we are heading.” Cassie paused. 

A profound _ping!_ From their comms made Peter jump. _30 minutes,_ texted Ned, _and_ _be careful,_ _there's a bomb in her coordinates, too._

Peter pressed his lips tightly, feeling the skin break and the blood seeping out from biting too hard. Before Cassie could say anything, he jumped into the dark, tangy tunnel. 

The trip to find MJ took about only 15 minutes, with Peter practically sprinting through the walls and leaping whenever he could, but it still felt too long, too time-consuming, too— 

“Well, well, well, if it isn't _Spiderman.”_

The Lizard Man was previously hideous in his last fight with him, but now he was straight up _disgusting._

“I _heard_ from a little birdie—or was it a little _Spidey?—_ that you have a _special_ bun in the oven right _here._ ” He crawled over to the corner of the tunnel, and then Peter saw _her._

She was gagged, and bound to a chair, with her eyes hazy and drifting, in and out of consciousness. Peter could hear her muffled, shallow breathing; could hear the whimpers and cries muffled from the fabric around her mouth. 

He could hear the _thump-a-thump-a-thump_ loud and clear. 

“What did you do to her.” Said Peter, his tone deadly. When Connor only cackled, Peter yelled, “What did you _do?!”_

“Oh, Peter, the _exact_ same thing that Richard did to _me.”_ Said Connor, grinning widely to show his sharp teeth. “just fucking up your entire life.” 

And then he waved a hand to his surroundings, and that was when Peter see it; twinkling, like red stars— 

“The rest of their siblings is going to blow up in the next 10 minutes,” said Connor, baring his menacing smirk, “But here, I think they ought to fast-forward the show.” 

MJ's breath grew ragged, weaker. 

Peter could feel the panic rising through his chest, could feel the tears falling behind the mask. 

“No, Connor please, they're _innocent—”_

The Lizard Man cackled, “Say bye-bye to mommy and baby, daddy.” 

And there were _explosions,_ many and concentrated and he _couldn't see MJ, by God where is she—?_

“ _MJ_!” Peter yelled, trying to get through the smoke but then Connor's tail whipped him, and then there was a slimy fist on his chest, then his fist on Connor's face, then his kicks aiming his chest, then— 

It was a blur, truly; a brutal showcase of limbs tearing limbs, of fist meeting flesh, of weapons slashing and cutting and stabbing. It took a while for Peter to shake himself off his haze, and by that time Connor already lost both his hands and his tail, panting fearfully as he crawled away. 

Peter didn't give a goddamn shit. He scrambled straight to where MJ once was, and— 

And he found the chair toasted and burnt, nothing more than an assortment of wooden pyre. 

Peter smelled burnt flesh around him, and he _choked_. 

“No, MJ,” He said, pulling off his mask slowly as he cradled the remnants of where she sat once, “No, no—I'm so _sorry, please—”_

He sobbed, gut-wrenching and heart-shattering. He let his knees fall and his shoulders dropped as his entire body shook with guilt and grief and _regret._

( _“What do you mean—what do you mean Daddy's not coming home?”_

_“Uncle—Uncle Ben? Uncle—Help! Someone please help us! Help!”_

_“Mr. Stark? We won Mr. Stark. We won—you did it Sir, you did it—“)_

“—ter Parker!” 

He whipped his head, forcing his swollen eyes to open and see who was calling him. 

It was Cassie, and in her arms was—was— 

“She’s been severely drugged, probably with hallucinogens.” She said, softly, as Peter crawled back up, ignoring every bone and muscle protesting his every move. “I snatched her on time, just before—” She shrugged at the broken pillars. “Enlarged some stones to support the damage from collapsing while you were fighting and all that.” 

Peter was shaking, and he was pretty sure that he had a broken rib and possibly a concussion, but MJ was breathing. MJ was there and— 

_Thump-a-thump-a-thump._

“Oh thank God.” Peter took MJ gingerly from Cassie's embrace, before burying his tear-streaked face to her curls. “ _oh thank God.”_

“You were a _beast_ back there, Pete.” She said, softly. “I don’t think I’ve—” she shook her head, turning away. “Come on. The helicarrier is waiting for us up there.” 

Peter nodded, numbly, drawing MJ close to his chest the whole trip back, listening to the heartbeats intertwined inside her to soothe himself to no avail. 

Peter's dread was now consuming the majority of his conscience. 

_Because of you._ Said the dread, viciously, _they almost died, because of you._

_You're going to be a horrible father, Peter._

* * *

“ _What,_ Mew?” 

Iron Mew is meowing at her incessantly, glaring at her with sharp-edged pupils. Morgan closed her book off— _The Hate U Give_ by Angie Thomas, which might or might not had made her cry—and glared back at the cat. “I gave you food already,” she reminded him as Mew meowed again with more urgency this time. “If you wanna pee, then you can go pee yourself.” 

But Mew was having none of that—instead, he started pulling Morgan's jeans, as if trying to drag her to where he wanted to go. Which was highly unusual for Mew, because that fat old cat was lazy and wouldn't even _want_ to fetch his own toys unless it was within 1-meter distance. 

“ _Mrow_ _,"_ Mew yelled at her. 

“Okay, okay,” Morgan straightened herself up, finally standing from her seat. Mew looked at her triumphantly before trotting away in hurried steps, urging Morgan to follow her. 

Morgan was even more confused when Mew led her to Pete and MJ's bedroom, with their door opened slightly ajar. They'd been staying in the Lake House since the whole Green Lizard Man fiasco—a mix of safety and privacy concerns being the reasons why. 

“ _Mrow_ _,”_ Mew nudged his head to the direction of the door. 

“Mew, I can’t go in there.” Said Morgan, urgently, “Like, first off, that's an invasion of privacy, and second, what if they're, like, doing something disgusting? Like making out or—” 

_“Peter!"_

Morgan blinked. All arguments were flying away from her head as she bolted inside to find MJ, shaking and soaked with sweat. She was blindly turning her head, obviously looking for someone that wasn't there. Her eyes were clouded with panic and disorientation, and her arms were clutching the blankets so tight her knuckles went white. 

“FRIDAY, lights at 20%,” Said Morgan, immediately by MJ's side but not quite touching her. 

MJ was still heaving when she asked, “Peter?” with a croaky and fearful voice, head still not turned at her, clearly still not registering her surroundings. 

“Uh, no, just Morgan.” Said Morgan, tentatively. MJ was seemingly way too disoriented to catch her, so she tried again. “MJ, hey, you're okay. Hey,” Morgan softly called her, over and over again, until MJ finally turned, some semblance of sense finally present. 

“Mo-Morgan?” asked MJ, still breathless. 

“Yep,” Morgan nodded, scooting over gingerly, letting herself to sit at the edge of the bed. “Can I, like, touch you, or anything? Because I don’t want to freak you out even more.” 

MJ nodded, wordlessly, and Morgan moved over to give her a gentle hug—only to then be crushed by MJ's arms afterwards. 

“Oof, okay.” Grunted Morgan in surprise, but she returned the fierceness, and drew MJ closer as tight as the awkward angle and the baby bump could allow her. “Uh… MJ, you’re shaking.” 

Morgan could only feel a tightening on their hug, if that was even possible. She also felt a growing damp spot on her shoulder, where MJ's head was currently buried into. “Hey, hey MJ,” She said, softly entangling their limbs. “it’s okay, whatever it was you're dreaming, it's not real.” 

MJ choked back some tears, and coughed, but she nodded, trying to brush it off with a wet laugh. “Yeah.” She said, trying to get over her bearings. “Yeah, it's not—it's not real.” 

But she was still shaking, and it was clear that none of Morgan's words could truly soothe her. 

“Do you want me to—” 

“Do you know where—where Peter is?” asked MJ, quietly, her voice so small and vulnerable Morgan's heart twanged a little. 

“Uh…” She looked around, for the first time truly realizing that her brother wasn't there. “I don’t?” she said, voice upturned. 

MJ looked down, chuckling. “Okay. That's okay.” She said, and Morgan had a feeling that it was directed more to MJ herself than to her. MJ slowly crawled out from the blanket, getting one foot down the bed. “I’m gonna go—look for him and all—” 

“Whoa, whoa.” Morgan immediately pushed her back to bed in disapproval. “Lady, it's night. Like, 10 p.m. night. And this farm is about 500 acres _huge_ with a hidden bull-haven you can accidentally trudge yourself into if you don’t know your way around. And you're fresh out of a nightmare, shaking like it's disco night and you're Michael Jackson's background dancers in Thriller.” 

“I— _what?”_

A fresh bout of determination coursed through Morgan's system. “I’ll go look for him.” She said, firmly. 

“Morgan, I—" 

“C’mere, Mew,” Morgan motioned for her cat to come over, and Mew, who’d been spending her time patiently waiting in front of the door, pranced inside happily. Mew leaped to the bed, and immediately nuzzled MJ's baby bump, “Mew will stay here with you, and I'll bring him _straight_ up, okay MJ?” said Morgan, “you just wait here while FRIDAY lulls you with calming elevator music. _”_

And then she bolted off before MJ could say anything, straight to the one place where she definitely knew she could find him. 

“Hi FRIDAY.” Said Morgan to the wooden door of the seemingly regular toolshed. “Pete in there?” 

**“He is, Morgan. However he had instructed that no one else should enter.”**

“Oh. Okay.” Morgan grew quiet, “Activate the 'Small-But-All-knowing' protocol, please.” 

**“Small-But-All-Knowing protocol, activated.** **”** FRIDAY announced as her machines whirred to life. **“Morgan H. Stark now has access to: All perimeters of the Stark lab.”**

As if on cue, the door opened, showing a state-of-the-art art chamber designed to create fascinating new discoveries. 

Morgan might not know _shit_ about math, chemistry, physics and biology, but she knew that her father's lab felt like a brand new knowledge, with a pinch of _home._

Other days, she'd love to just rummage his dad's old notes and decipher his handwriting as well as the brilliance behind it, or talk to her bot brothers. But right now she just wanted to get Peter and drag him back to the house. 

Morgan made her way into the place. The designing table was a mess of papers, crumpled and torn and thrown haphazardly to the trash. The only one that was presentable had words, crossed and replaced and rearranged all over it. Morgan paused to take a glance, and frowned. 

Sneakily, she made her way into the secluded corner at the back—at the building station, where Harley, Peter, and Uncle Rhodey used to bury themselves into their latest creation whenever they want to avoid people. 

(Mom said it was an engineer's trait. Morgan wondered if dad had it as well.) 

And, true to her predictions, Peter was there—except he wasn't building anything. Instead, he was seemingly captivated by something in front of him; Morgan could hear the soft hum of machinery working, as well as hushed, muffled words in the mix of it. 

Morgan wanted to approach closer, but a mechanical hand held her back. She looked up to DUM-E, raising an eye in confusion. 

“... _if you're seeing this, then I guess the plan really do work after all.”_

Morgan froze. She knew that voice. 

* * *

Anthony Stark left him a message. 

Mr. Stark—Mr. Stark recorded a message _just for him_. 

Peter had only seen the holo-messages that were meant to Pepper and Morgan. He heard that Colonel Rhodes had one, and Happy had one, and Harley and Nebula had each at _least_ three, and Peter himself got a honorary mention, here and there, but he never thought that he'd actually _have_ his own recordings. 

He was the only one who blipped, after all; the only Stark family member that was erased in that cursed Titan's hand. Messaging a dead child would be pointless, he thought. 

And yet. 

“ **Mr. Stark** **instructed me to play this message when I think you need it the most, Peter.”** Said FRIDAY, her soft mechanical voice shaking Peter out from his reverie. 

“When I… need it the most?” 

**“correct.”** Affirmed FRIDAY. **“Congratulations on the pregnancy, Peter.”**

Peter spluttered, his tongue malfunctioning as words failed him. He wanted to ask FRIDAY for further explanation, or clarification, but his throat dried up and all manners of protest left his system when the AI played the recording. 

Before his eyes, Anthony Edward Stark were reassembled; made of binary codes and technological feat and _memories_ ; delivering message of a man long gone. 

_“_ _Underoos."_ Said Mr. Stark, his tone light and flippant. “ _if you're seeing this, then I guess the plan really do work after all.”_

His eyes were softer, though, and he walked around, reveling in silence as Peter sat there, captivated by his motion. “ _God, I don't know what to say.”_ He shook his head, “ _I_ _love you, I miss you, I'm sorry—the usual trifecta._ _Ugh.”_ Tony winced, “ _God,_ _I'm horrible at this… this affection thing.”_

Peter choked a wet laugh, because this was _so_ Mr. Stark. 

“ _I don’t even know what I’m holding myself back for—you’re not here.”_ Mr. Stark halted his steps, lowering his gaze to the floor. _“and it's because of me.”_

Peter bit his lip, knowing the misplaced self-deprecation that would come up, yet unable to stop it. 

_“I’m sorry,_ _Underoos_ _.”_

“Not your fault,” Peter immediately said, a firm, but ultimately feeble, rebuttal. “Stop blaming yourself _,_ Mr. Stark.” 

_“I’_ _ve only known you for two years and already I send you to your death. Whereas you—”_ Tony lowered his gaze, _“Those years I spent with you, I_ _—_ _”_

Peter waited, but no words came out of Tony in a while, as Tony pressed this knuckles to his lips, trying to get over his bearings. 

He still didn’t look up when he said, _“_ _you_ _know, Morgan hates banana on her pancakes, too. Just like you.”_ He had a small smile on his face, somber and somewhat heartbreaking, _“And sometimes when she talks, when she sasses me back, I hear you._ _”_

Tony shook his head, _“Sometimes Harley would come at my home, and I'd call him your name, all the goddamn time because I’m an old man and I slip a lot and I_ ** _miss_** _you.”_

Peter choked at Tony'swords. 

_“God_ _, I just—I just miss you.”_

Tony chuckled, his voice sounding empty and sad. _“you taught me on how to be a better person, a better mentor,”_ he took a deep breath, _“a better_ ** _father._ ** _”_

Peter was taken aback at his admission. 

Because he'd heard of it a lot, spoke of it a lot—of how Iron Family was basically made out of fatherless children Tony assembled along the way. He joked with Harley all the time, about how they were practically adopted by Tony and how he was their _dad_ in all sense but blood. He even introduced Harley and Morgan as his siblings, most of the times. 

But hearing Mr. _Stark—Tony,_ admitted it himself, was a new blow to his gut; one that made him feel giddy and anxious and overjoyed and saddened at the same time. 

Still, hologram-Tony didn’t wait for Peter to get his bearings together, and continued. 

(A dark crevice in Peter's mind whispered _because he didn't think you'd really watch it._

_How could he, when you were dead?)_

Tony wandered around again, _“_ _Parentin_ _g_ _is—is hard work._ _”_ He said, “ _between trying to figure out how to make sure your kid turned out fine and keeping them unscratched, it's a constant winging it situation that forces me in a perpetual Sprint in order to keep up.”_ He looked up and smiled again, and oh how Peter missed that smile. _“_ _And I never really had a_ _good father figure_ _, so it really was—is, a challenge.”_ He chuckled, softly. 

Peter chuckled, too; trying to cover his impending tears with some laugh, because _same._

_But_ _dare I say that the time I spent with you, Harley, and now Morgan, are the_ ** _best_** _times, of my entire_ ** _life.”_ **

Peter's effort to remain composed grew even more eroded as Tony grew more vulnerable. 

_"it is—the most amazing thing, Peter. When you slipped out_ _and called me 'pops'? I had it on record, and FRIDAY kept it for me_ _. It makes me feel—God,_ _I don’t even know how to put it in words.”_ Tony shook his head, “ _Every time you showed me the latest movie in your nerd list, or Harley_ _bragged to me about his latest potato gun modification, or Morgan saying 'shit', it's like—”_ Tony smiled, wistfully, “ _Sometimes I look at all of you and told myself_ _;_ _I didn’t deserve this.”_

“You do,” Peter told him, earnestly. “You absolutely _do,_ Tony.” 

“ _I mean, how could I, when I let you die?”_ wondered Tony, out loud, “ _how could I, when I constantly put you in danger? How could I, with all of my horrible records_ _and how the world works around us?”_

And those questions were thrown at him like precise arrows, hitting him where all of the insecurities were laid bare and menacing. 

_“And yet,”_ said Tony, continuing, much to Peter's surprise. “ _I still got it. I still got you all.”_ He sighed, shakily, “ _and maybe, despite all of these questions and doubts in my head,_ _despite all the failures I had with you—my failure to protect you—”_ His holographic eyes shone with unshed tears. “ _The universe still_ _thinks_ _I’m worthy.”_

Peter was dumbfounded and stunned at Tony's admission. 

“ _So tomorrow's the due,”_ said Tony, softly, “ _we’re going to try this, this time heist thing and get the stones to un-snap this mess and so, if you're watching this,_ _Underoos_ _,”_ Tony's eyes were now leveling with him, “ _it means that we did it, and we brought you back, and it means—”_ He smiled, such brilliant, wide smile that served as a juxtaposition to his words, “ _i_ _t means that I wouldn't be there to celebrate it with you.”_

Peter sucked a deep breath, his heart heavy and his words dying on his throat. 

“ _But that's—that’s okay,”_ Tony continued, “ _Because it means that you're safe, and you're alive, and_ _that's the best thing a parent could ask for their child.”_

Tony had called Peter his _child,_ and Peter could feel his tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“ _Anyway, I told FRIDAY that this is_ _gonna_ _be a pep-talk_ _of some sort_ _, can't believe we've derailed this far.”_ Tony blinked, shaking his head dramatically. “ _okay, here goes.”_

And then hologram-Tony was approaching Peter, closer and closer and closer, softly gazing at him like he was his whole world. “ _You’re an amazing child, Peter Benjamin Parker,”_ said Tony, gently, “ _And whatever self-deprecation and self-doubt that you have upon yourself,_ _know that they are all lies and deception because you,_ _Underoos?_ _You are worth_ _it, and you deserve_ _everything_ _, and you are going to be great at anything you put your mind to.”_

Peter looked at him intently as Tony continued, eyes glassy and filled with disbelief. _“and there are going to be obstacles down the line—failures, people who doubt you, all that jazz, but that doesn't make you any less worthy.”_ Tony said, with the tone of a man so convinced with his own words Peter had no other choice but to believe it. “ _Because you, my little spider-son from Queens,_ _are a persistent little shit—_ _kind of_ _like me_ _but better_ _. And because of that you are worthy; because of your dedication, your passion, and your_ _kindness, you_ _are_ ** _worthy._ ** _”_

Tony smiled, a genuine, hopeful smile that reminded Peter of older, simpler times of them, together in the lab; laughing, joking, _living._

“ _God, I really do hope you see this,_ _Underoos_ _.”_ Said Tony. “ _I love you 3000. Ask Morgan what it_ _means_ _. You'll love her.”_

And Peter surged forward instinctively, wanting to hug Tony with all his might, but all too soon Tony disappeared and he was just reaching an embrace to an empty space, quiet and haunting. 

And then he shattered, and cried, because Tony just addressed the root of all this; of all the mess he'd been feeling since MJ told her on that fateful day. 

He didn’t think that he was _worthy_ _._

_Worthy of this happiness, of this responsibility, of this legacy._

“But you are, though.” 

Peter's chest was still heaving when he looked up, confused, only to find Morgan standing next to DUM-E. 

Had he been saying it out loud? 

“You are worthy you know.” Said Morgan, smiling wryly as she leaned over DUM-E. “You heard it yourself. Dad said it.” She nodded to where hologram-Tony once stood. “Fact, he made a whole speech about it; a whopping ten minutes.” 

“Morgan,” Peter breathed, surprised, “were you here the whole time?” 

The youngest of the Starklings nodded, approaching him closer. “MJ sent me—well, it's more of me initiating it and her agreeing to it, but basically she's looking for you.” She said, pointedly, as she took a seat next to him on the floor. “she had a nightmare. Want some cuddles and some reassurance.” 

“Oh,” Peter was dumbfounded, not knowing what to say. He merely lowered his head even more to his knees, his back hunched. 

Every inch of his body is screaming _get back to her, comfort her,_ but he couldn't move; not with the doubt clouding his head, with the dread leeching into his system. 

He felt Morgan leaning her body over his, and turned again. She looked vacantly at where hologram-Tony was, smiling wistfully. “I read your so-called goodbye letter.” she said, “a lot of typo and dried tear drops, there, huh.” 

Peter spluttered in surprise. “how did you find—” he said, aghast. 

“The design table isn't exactly a good hiding place.” Morgan replied, looking at him like he was an idiot. “though personally I would rather it to be thrown away with the rest of its precedents.” 

She stared at him, intently, while Peter averted his gaze. He instead focused on his long sleeves, fiddling with the seams. 

“You really gonna break off the engagement?” She asked, gently, her tone free of judgement. “leave her just like that?” 

Peter opened his mouth, and closed it, and opened it again. “it’s safer, that way. Cut all ties. Erase their relationship with me.” He said, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “My presence _alone_ put a target on _their_ heads.” 

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “okay now that's some bullshit.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. “They’re gonna be in even _more_ danger if you're _leaving,_ because you're no longer there to protect them when shit like this happens _.”_

“You don't get it, Morgan—” 

“But _oh,_ I _do.”_ Morgan rebutted him immediately, “You forgot that you're talking to a girl whose father left her family to save the _world.”_ She said, with feigned nonchalance, “I’m practically an expert on identifying daddy issues, with the amount of times I spent in therapy because Anthony Edward Stark decided to snap his fingers wearing some shiny, omnipotent stones.” 

Peter gaped at her bluntness. 

Morgan shifted her seat, so now she was looking at him. “Listen to me; sometimes people fuck up, yes, and the consequences aren’t always pleasant, yes, but that’s not an excuse to _quit._ ” She said, intently. “Because if you decide to leave now, _right now,_ then you're dooming your kid to a fatherless life when he could have had the _best dad_ in the _world.”_

Morgan's nonchalance had worn off, replaced by resigned annoyance. “All I have of my dad is fading memories, tokens from strangers, a series of holographic imprint, and your stories about him.” Morgan said, softly, somberly. “I know that this man loves cats, but I’ll never know how he'll react to Iron Mew. I know that the guy likes to jam to AC/DC, but I'll never experience carpool karaoke with him singing Highway to Hell.” She shook her head, somberly. “I don’t want your kids to wonder for those things, Peter. I don’t want her to be like me; a third-person observer to her own father's life. Because she would _hate it.”_ She turned at him, seriously, “and then she would hate _you.”_

She looked older, then; her words carrying more wisdom than Peter had ever heard anyone said in a while. 

“Do you,” Peter cleared his throat, “do you hate your dad, Morgo?” 

Morgan shrugged, “Sometimes.” She chuckled, softly. “Especially in days where I can’t remember exactly what his face looked like, or how his voice sounded like—I hated him.” She tapped the floor, absent-mindedly. “I don’t care if he died to save the universe. I don’t care if he's like, world-wide hero. I don’t care if other planets worship him as God, because right here I just miss my dad and he's not here anymore.” She sent him a meaningful look. “But you don’t need me to tell you that.” 

Peter blinked, his mind whirring. “what do you mean?” he asked, in genuine confusion. 

Morgan actually laughed at this, unbridled and surprised, as if she was getting a joke he hadn’t latched on. “Pete, our family is made out of people with Daddy Issues.” She said, tone light, “don’t tell me you've never felt even the slightest resentment to any of your father figures for leaving you, because that would be a _lie._ ” 

Peter absolutely knew that feeling; how he hated his dad, sometimes, for leaving him alone. How he blamed Uncle Ben on bad days for dying on that street. How he resented Mr. Stark for being so goddamn self-sacrificing that he had to burn part his body to _crisp_ just to save the goddamn _universe._

“I,” he said, voice dry. “I _guess.”_

Morgan nodded, triumphantly. “ _Stay,_ Peter.” She said, “get back to MJ, _really_ talk to her about this; work your issues together.” Her smile faltered, and she looked sad, now. Mournful. “don’t run away and make another kid in this family lose her father figure, because she doesn’t deserve it, MJ doesn’t deserve it, and neither do you.” 

She looked at him with those big, brown eyes, so much like _Tony_ in that moment. Peter's breath hitched as she extended her hand. Looking at her expectant look, at the challenging eyes she gave him, Peter took it, and they walked out of the lab, the goodbye-letter left behind at the design table, abandoned as it should. 

They walked to the lake house in silence, only greeted by Iron Mew's purr to Morgan's feet. 

“Hi there buddy,” said Morgan, picking up the cat and rubbing him under his chubby chin. The cat meowed in satisfaction as he nuzzled to her, much to Peter's amusement. 

“ _Mrow_ _.”_

Peter shook his head, “I better go upstairs.” He said, ruffling Morgan's hair. “Night, Morgo.” 

“Night, Pete.” She replied, lifting one of Iron Mew's paws. “ _Niwt_ _Niwt_ _,_ _Petey_ _!”_ She said, with a high pitched voice, shaking the paw in an exaggeration. Iron Mew merely let out a tired, but affectionate _meow._

Peter shook his head and climbed upstairs, taking a deep breath before he pushed the doorknob down, opening the door to _their_ room. 

“Mo-rgan?” 

It was MJ, seemingly bleary and tired, and Peter was just taken aback by how _beautiful_ she looked in that moment. “Just me, MJ.” Said Peter, softly, eyes observing her figure as the moonlight halo-ed around her. 

“Peter?” MJ croaked, blinking several times before conscience seeped through her. “ _Peter.”_

Gingerly, Peter took his place right next to her, gathering her through his arms. “Morgan said you were having a nightmare.” He said, softly, burying his face to her curls. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

MJ shook her head, pressing it close to his chest. “S’alright.” She mumbled, softly. “You’re here now.” 

Peter reveled in her presence; in the way her steady breathing calmed him, in the way her warmth engulfed him, in the way her voice soothed him. 

If there were words beyond love, he'd use it to describe his feelings to her right now. 

Suddenly, Peter felt a poke on his side, and he looked down, concerned. MJ merely laughed at his expression. “Baby just kicked you, huh?” She said, voice tinted with amusement. “Must’ve missed her loser dad.” 

Peter laughed with her, but the dread returned, the phrase _loser dad_ ringing in his head, threatening and menacing, despite him knowing that the word is a mere nickname. 

He wanted to repress it all down, to just ignore it, again, like he used to. But then he looked at her; at her clouded, affectionate brown eyes. At her little smile. At her welcoming arms that could always soften every blow he’d taken. 

He felt another soft kick on his hip, reminding him of what was important. 

_don’t run away and make another kid in this family lose her father figure, because she doesn’t deserve it, MJ doesn’t deserve it, and neither do you._

“MJ,” Peter said, reluctantly disentangling his embrace to her. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

And he did. 

It was the best thing he'd ever done in quite a long time. 

* * *

“It's so…” Happy tilted his head aside, eyes intently looking at the sleeping baby in MJ's arms. “ _tiny.”_

“and _loud.”_ Said Morgan, decidedly. “It's like she got Dolby Stereo for a pair of lungs, actually.” 

MJ snorted and Peter held back a quiet laugh. “she does have quite the volume, doesn't she?” croaked MJ, smiling brilliantly. 

“She looks _beautiful,_ Michelle.” Pepper said, softly. “Absolutely gorgeous.” 

Pepper sounded so earnest it made MJ's heart fluttered. She looked down at the baby in her arms, who was yawning quietly, unaware of her surroundings. 

_Her child._

She couldn’t believe she had a _child._

“She does look kind of cute, doesn't she?” said MJ, absent-mindedly, as she caressed the baby's soft tuft of curls. 

“She has Peter's nose.” Said aunt May, bopping the little girl affectionately. “and she has your lips, which is great, because Peter doesn’t have any.” 

“ _May,”_ Peter groaned, only half-heartedly, as MJ laughed in surprise. “Not _cool.”_

“Aw, Bug Boy, she's just telling the truth.” Teased MJ with a hoarse voice. “I still love you, lips or not.” 

Peter couldn’t help but give her a smile as he dove in for a soft kiss, and MJ welcomed it with giddy heart. 

8 years, and she was still such a sap for him. 

“Ugh, this is way too many PDAs than what I can handle.” Groaned Morgan, just as Peter broke off with her. He only threw Morgan a mischievous look, and Morgan rolled her eyes in exaggeration, not at all trying to mask the affectionate undertones in her delivery. 

“This is our _bedroom,_ Morgan. Technically it's not a public place.” MJ retorted, equally as playful. The fact that she was having a surprise delivery at the Stark cabin in the middle of the night still boggled her mind, if she thought way too much about it. She'd never been more grateful for May's experiences and Pepper's resourcefulness. 

“so what are we going to call her?” asked May, earnestly, hand still hovering over her daughter’s _—her daughter!_ _—_ head _._

MJ and Peter exchanged meaningful looks, before Peter cleared his throat. “you, actually.” Said Peter, earnestly. “We’re planning on May Parker-Jones. After—after you.” 

May gasped, softly, her eyes shining in surprise. “I—” she said, switching her gaze from Peter, to MJ, to the baby— _May_ —in absolute _joy._ “Thank _you.”_

Peter was grinning from ear to ear, leaning his head to the crown of her hair. “It’s what you deserve,” he said, softly, as May gingerly took baby May to her arms, much to MJ's half-hearted reluctance. Morgan migrated her way to be next to May, peering over the baby, and MJ's heart fluttered. “we still haven’t figured out a middle name, though. Everything seems wrong every time we say it out loud.” 

MJ, whose eyes were previously glued at the May Parker duo, turned to Peter, hesitantly. “Actually, I've been… thinking.” She said, her tone tentative. 

Peter looked at her, surprised. “Oh?” 

“Yeah,” MJ licked her lips, “You know we can't use Benjamin and Richard, because we want to reserve it _when_ we have a boy,” she said, staring at Peter intently. “but I was thinking… May Antonia Parker-Jones has a nice ring, you know?” 

Pepper gasped, and Morgan merely grinned. That kid was the only person MJ had told her plan about, asking for her permission for the name. Morgan seemed to be quite gleeful at her proposal. 

But no one, absolutely no one, topped Peter's reaction. 

He looked at her with wide eyes, jaw halfway falling. MJ could see unshed tears as she waited Peter to rearrange his thought. “MJ,” he finally croaked, softly, gently, fervently, “I—are you _sure?”_

MJ grinned, “Man gave you a pep talk from beyond the grave and his daughter gate-keeps you from making a stupid decision,” she pointed out, “figured I owe him this much.” 

“Tony—” Pepper spoke up, her voice thick with emotions. “Tony would be _absolutely_ honored.” 

Peter, meanwhile, merely lowered his head, so they were face-to-face, nose touching. “May Antonia Parker-Jones.” He whispered to her, and MJ nodded. “Thank _you,_ MJ.” 

She closed her eyes, snuggled to her lover closer. “She’s gonna do great things, judging from her namesakes.” She whispered back, and Peter couldn't help it; he captured her half-opened lips into another loving kiss. 

“You’re such a sap, Parker,” she said, when Peter finally released her. 

“You love me for it.” Peter replied thickly, putting a peck on her forehead. 

_Yeah,_ MJ thought, _yeah I do._

“Y'know, Mayday,” MJ could hear Morgan speaking inconspicuously in the background, “your parents are really romantically gross. But other than that, you got the best set this world can offer.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hellooo people! it's been a while since i updated this series, but after a combination of watching FFH and watching my dad trying to help my brother calm down at his wife's delivery, i kinda have a strong Peter-Tony interaction muse that wouldn't leave me alone... anyway spideychelle is so pure and amazing and the fact that our MJ is a black woman... *chefs kiss*
> 
> anyway go pester me on my twitter, @starkbotbabies, for more iron fam content!!


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